Sin City
Chapter 28

Copyright© 2009 by Audrey Haber

Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 28 - A tale about Page 3 lifestyles and relationships set in Bombay, India, in the late Nineties.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Romantic   NonConsensual   Rape   Blackmail   Cheating   Cuckold   Rough   Torture   Interracial   White Male   Slow  

Arif was afraid to open the door.

It was crazy. This was his house. He had every right to be here. And yet each time he brought the key to the doorlatch, his hand trembled so much, he couldn't slip it in.

What are you so afraid of? he asked himself. What do you think you'll find in there?

The end of my marriage.

Come on, you're over-reacting, he told himself. Okay, so Sarla went to the Sin City launch without telling you. Okay, so she took a friend along. Okay, so it was a male friend.

But what's the big deal? You went too, didn't you? And in fact, you went with a strange woman you'd only just met! If she saw you there, what do you think she thought? Maybe you're the one who should be feeling guilty. After all, you didn't even return home last night. As far as she's concerned, God knows where you were all night.

The door to the neighbouring flat opened and a man came out. It was Mr Advani, the older one, white-haired and white-moustached, mumbling to himself under his breath as usual. He shut the door behind himself and turned around slowly.

Arif said hello. Advani stared at him for a moment.

Arif realized that he was bent over his own front door, key in hand, clothes and hair dishevelled, unshaven and unbathed. He straightened up and smiled with some embarrassment at his neighbour.

Advani mumbled something in Sindhi and shook his head. He turned away and began shuffling toward the stairwell. Ever since Arif had known him, Advani always took the stairs. Even though he was 80-plus and frail. Apparently, he had some major phobia about lifts. Not surprising, since he was probably in better shape than the lift. He wheezed as he went down the narrow stairwell, and Arif heard the hollow sound of a plastic bucket being kicked downstairs. He heard Advani's hoarse voice grumbling aloud about people who let their kachra dabbas on the stairs, bloody fools.

God, Arif thought, I'll die before I become that senile.

He shoved the key in the latch and twisted it roughly, almost snapping it off. The door opened. He stepped inside the flat and shut the door.

"Sarla?" he called. "I'm home?"

And stood there, waiting, his heart racing like the drumbeat in Robert Miles' Dreamland.

 
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